


session 04: hold that note

by cruellae (tinkabelladk)



Series: 12 little sessions (with bonus track) [5]
Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22748866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae
Summary: i should have known you were too mean to die.
Relationships: Spike Spiegel/Vicious
Series: 12 little sessions (with bonus track) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623682
Kudos: 17





	session 04: hold that note

**[Hold On Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vTWRt4hXGXw) by Esperanza Spalding**

_I can hold my tongue for years, I don't mind_

_For within that time, silent, I recite thousands of poems about you_

_Until one of them comes true_

The problem with being in outer space so often is that morning never really comes. Vicious has always slept poorly, and on the Bebop he rarely sleeps for more than a few hours at a time. It’s not the chill of space or the restless humming and murmuring of the ship that keep him awake, but the ghosts that haunt him when he closes his eyes. 

Rather than face the many demons running constantly through his psyche, he gets up and prowls the darkened ship. He knows every turn of the labyrinthine corridors, remembers where Edward has strung cords that become trip hazards when the lights are off. In this small way, the Bebop belongs to him as much as anyone. 

Tonight, he lingers in the hallway outside of Spike’s bedroom, where his feet usually take him if he gives them no other direction. When they were boys together, twelve, thirteen, fourteen years old, living in Mao’s house, he used to sneak into Spike’s room to escape the fears that clouded the air in his own space. 

Spike, who could sleep anywhere at any time, would blink at him blearily, then lift the blankets so Vicious could climb into his bed, half asleep again by the time his mattress dipped under Vicious’ weight. 

Vicious would curl up at the very edge of Spike’s bed, feeling the warmth of the body beside him without actually touching, and even though he was constantly listening for footsteps in the hallway or any hitches in Spike’s breathing, he would always slip quickly into sleep. 

His lip curls into a snarl as he remembers those nights, the pathetic weakling that he used to be. In some ways, he still is, seeking out Spike when his own strength is insufficient. But sometimes, just knowing that Spike is alive and just on the other side of a thin metal door is enough to keep the darkness at bay for a little longer.

Right now it’s three in the morning, and Vicious is unlikely to be discovered. So he allows himself to linger in Spike’s portion of the hallway, wondering if Spike dreams about fighting, like Vicious does, or if he dreams about Julia, which Vicious never has. 

He hears the flapping of feathers and a soft caw. He holds out his hand and Vraska drops his communicator into it before landing on his shoulder. Her talons cut through the thin shirt he’s sleeping in, but it’s a pain he’s used to, and his shoulder is marked by dozens of fine scars from her years of loyal service. 

“Thank you, Vraska,” he murmurs, looking down at the little blinking red dot on his communications device. He flips it on as he walks back to the common area, and Lin’s face fills the screen. 

“You’re alive,” Lin whispers, eyes wide. “I never really believed you were dead, but still—”

“I am dead,” Vicious says. “You’re talking to a ghost.” 

Lin is quiet for a moment. Then he leans forward, his green eyes wide and shining on the low-resolution display. “They’ve got Shin,” he says. “They’ve got my brother. They took him away and they’re—”

“Lin,” Vicious says sternly, and Lin pauses, drawing a ragged breath. “Tell me what I need to know.” 

“Someone framed him for Mao’s death,” Lin says, sounding a little calmer. “So the Elders are going to make an example of him. They’ve got him in the chamber, awaiting their ruling. The day after tomorrow they’ll sentence him.” 

“I see.” It’s unfortunate that they’ve already taken Shin to the Chamber, as it is difficult to break into or out of. Vicious knows the location and architecture well, because the Elders nearly executed him when he was seventeen, and only Mao’s influence stopped them. He doesn’t like thinking of Shin, who is not much older than seventeen himself, chained to the wall behind him, hands spread apart over his head. It had not been a pleasant position to hold for days at a time. 

“Please, Vicious,” Lin says, as broken as Vicious has ever seen him. “Please. I know how they’re going to rule—you’re the only one who can save him.” 

“I don’t abandon my soldiers,” Vicious says. He could say something about how the Order, which Lin was once ready to die for, has been exposed for the fraud that it is. But in a rare moment of mercy, he refrains. “Wait for instructions, Lin. I will be in touch soon.” 

_—_

_I can hold my breath for years, I won't get blue_

_—_

Vicious lays out his arsenal on the Bebop’s coffee table and checks each weapon one by one. His katana, his boot knife, his throwing knives, and the smoke bombs that Vraska knows how to deploy. 

She swoops down beside him to look at the weapons, then turns, offering something to him. 

“I don’t use guns, Vraska,” Vicious says, setting the pistol aside. “And I’m not asking Spike to come.” 

She caws, flapping her wings in disgust at his decision. 

“He’ll say no,” Vicious says, glancing at her. “There’s no point.” 

With a flurry of feathers, she’s airborne again, flying in the general direction of Spike’s bedroom. Vicious sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. She’s right—he knows she’s right. Alone, he may not survive. And that would be an acceptable risk, except that if Vicious falls than so will Shin. Despite himself, Vicious has always had a greater fondness for Shin than is wise or reasonable. 

He gets up and follows Vraska down the hallway, hesitating for a long moment before knocking on Spike’s door. It’s an even longer pause until Spike opens it. 

“Vicious. It is four a.m.” Spike leans one hand against the doorframe, blinking at him blearily. “There had better be a fucking fire.” 

“There is.” Vicious says. “Do you remember Shin?”

Spike looks utterly annoyed, which is at least a little gratifying. “Yeah, the little pipsqueak following Lin around all the time? Sure. Could this not have waited until morning?”

“They have him in the Chamber.” 

That gets Spike’s attention—he stands straight, shoulders broadening like he’s facing down a threat. “Holy shit. What for?” 

“Mao’s death.” 

“So they’re going to execute Shin because you’re a fucking monster.” Spike’s countenance quickly shifts from annoyed to furious. 

“No,” Vicious says. “They’re not. I’m going to go after him. And I…need you to come.” It feels bitter to stand at Spike’s door and beg for his help, after everything that’s happened. It makes Vicious feel weak, and weakness is the last thing he wants Spike to see. 

“Okay,” Spike says, and suddenly it’s that simple, just like it has always been. “Let’s go.” 

Vicious doesn’t have to wait long for Spike to meet him in the common area. Spike adds his own weapons to the collection on the table; guns, ammo, grenades. He sits back, testing the sight on a pistol, then lays it beside all the others. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. “Jet’s going to be pissed.” 

Vicious nods. He is familiar with Jet’s wrath when one of his crew places themselves in unnecessary danger, though it is rarely directed at him. He is more calculated and cunning than the others, less reckless. And Jet is less fond of him, not nearly as attached. 

“So what’s the plan?” Spike asks. 

“I don’t have one.”

Spike’s eyes widen and he laughs, softly, bitterly. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that.” 

“The layout of the Chamber allows for only one strategy. We go in the front door.” 

“Got it.” Spike doesn’t look the least bit intimidated. “Let’s do this.” 

_—_

_One sweet sigh from you / In my memories, the breath of life / That tides me through_

_—_

Fighting by Spike’s side is like rediscovering a part of himself Vicious had thought lost forever, like regaining a limb or an eye. He knows, always, where Spike is going to be, can intuit the trajectory of his bullets and the limber movement of his body. 

Spike, for his part, even relents in his usual anger as they make their way through the Council Building to the Chamber. It’s not heavily guarded this early in the morning, but they need to make sure no one who has seen their faces is left alive, so the work is not just dangerous but also bloody and meticulous. 

It’s strange to be back here, in the building Vicious once thought he would rule. When he dove out the shattered cathedral window after Spike, it was as though he left a part of himself behind. Sometimes he thinks that he could find the ghost of his former self still standing in that church, watching as Spike hits the concrete below. And with that ghost, he left the burning, hateful ambition that has driven him his entire life. 

He feels empty without it, but also, strangely free. 

A stray bullet grazes Spike’s arm, and Vicious takes a shallow knife cut to the thigh, but really they’re invincible together, as they’ve always been. 

Together they wrench open the door to the chamber as the blood of the guards stationed outside seeps up against their boots. 

Shin is there, his arms spread behind him and his head hanging limply. Spike pauses for a moment, casting a searching glance at Vicious, then runs to Shin’s side. Vicious approaches more slowly, letting them have their moment. Shin will stand straight and try to hide the pain he must be feeling as soon as Vicious gets near, but for Spike he will show vulnerability, and so Vicious lets the moment linger as long as he dares. 

“Sir,” Shin says, raising his head. He’s pale, sweat dotting his temples and tear tracks on his face. His eyes are wide, startled. “I thought you were dead.” 

“I am,” Vicious says. “Even so, I wouldn’t leave you behind.” 

Shin nods, then gasps in sudden relief as Spike presses his pistol to the chain holding his left hand and fires. Vicious’ katana makes short work of the second, and Shin stumbles forward. Vicious catches him and lowers him to his knees. 

“I’m sorry, sir…” he murmurs. “I told them…who killed Mao. They…” He raises his mangled left hand. 

Vicious feels a hot rage flush through him—and not all of it directed at the Elders. He never should have burdened Shin with such knowledge in the first place, should never have let his fondness for Shin overcome his caution and reserve. 

“There is no reason to be sorry,” Vicious says, taking Shin’s intact right hand and pulling him to his feet. “You did well. You made me proud.” 

Shin’s eyes glisten with tears. “Really?” 

“Yes. But we need to move, Shin. Now.” 

Shin nods, turning to Spike and taking the offered pistol. 

“Time for some payback,” Spike says, with a wry smile. 

_—_

_Till the air is clear enough to breathe 'round you / I'll keep holding on_

_—_

“I should have known you were too mean to die, you bastard,” Annie says, her arms crossed over her large chest, her stern mouth pulled down in a severe frown. “You’re not welcome here.” 

“Will you let us in?” Spike asks, stepping into her line of sight. “We’ve got Shin in the car there, and he’s injured.” 

“You two are nothing but trouble,” Annie says, but her expression softens and she opens the door. She could always see right through Spike’s hardened exterior to the gentleness within, but is smart enough to know Vicious has no similarly redeeming qualities. 

Spike and Annie lean on the counter, talking softly, while Vicious sits with Shin at the other end of the store, waiting for the doctor to come look at Shin’s hand. 

Shin is trembling, a clear sign of an adrenaline crash. He has a blanket over his shoulders, courtesy of Annie, and Vicious hopes it is of some small comfort. 

“Did they really put you in there, Sir?” Shin asks, his voice wavering. 

“Yes.” Ordinarily Vicious wouldn’t tell the story, but Shin clearly needs a distraction. “I was about your age. I killed someone without the proper authorization. They wanted to make an example of me.”

“How long were you in for?” Shin asks. 

“Here.” Vicious hands him another glass of rum. He’ll want to be numb when the doctor gets started. “Drink. I was in for three days. Mao pulled some strings to get me out.” 

Shin nods, his head dipping forward. “I can’t believe you and Spike are both alive. It’s just like old times…” 

“Old times you were too young to remember,” Spike joins them, ruffling Shin’s hair affectionately. “Stay awake, kiddo. Your brother’s almost here.” 

_—_

_Your love may never flow my way / Still I'm gonna keep holding on_

_—_

“Thank you,” Lin says. He’s standing with Vicious and Spike in an isolated corner of the spaceport, Shin sitting on a bench nearby, in their line of sight. “Both of you.” 

“Good luck, Lin,” Spike says. “Take care of your brother, okay?” 

A ghost of a smile crosses Lin’s face. “I will.” 

This can’t be easy for them, either of them. All they know is the syndicate; they were raised to it just as Vicious was. Now they have to change their names, their appearances, their entire lives. But they’ll survive it. Vicious knows they will, knows his soldiers are strong. 

“You two take care of each other too,” Lin says. “And Vicious, say hi to Julia for me, okay? Let her know Shin and I got out.” 

Vicious nods, very aware that Spike’s gaze has cut to him like a flash of blinding light. But Spike says nothing as they finish their farewells and wait out of sight as the brothers board the transport to Ganymede. From there, they’ll go somewhere even Vicious doesn’t know about—Annie arranged it. The fewer people who know their final destination, the better. 

As Vicious walks out of the spaceport into the hot, dry Martian evening, he thinks maybe things are a little better between him and Spike, now. They fought side by side, they saved Shin together. Maybe—

Spike’s punch lands only because it’s so unexpected, a blow to Vicious’ jaw that makes him stumble backward. 

“You know where Julia is?” Spike bellows, swinging again. Vicious dodges easily because when he’s not caught completely unawares, he can read Spike’s movements like a book. 

“No,” Vicious says, casually deflecting another wild, furious punch. “I don’t.” 

“Lin seemed to think you do.” 

“I know how to contact her,” Vicious says. “But always on her terms. She does not reveal her location to me.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Spike.” Vicious stands still, feeling something almost like pity, and also a kind of perverse satisfaction. _Let him see what it feels like._ “If she wanted to find you, she would.”

Spike turns his face away, the wind ruffling his ridiculous mop of hair. “How is she?” he asks, softly, tentatively. 

“She’s fine,” Vicious says. “Julia knows how to take care of herself.”

Spike takes a deep breath, shoves his hands in his pockets, and starts walking. 

Vicious follows, silently by his side. Spike’s heart may be bound to his past, to his sins and lost loves and regrets, but Vicious is tied only to him. For now, Vicious will go where Spike goes, and that will be enough. 

_—_

_Shouldn't I just let go / Since there's nothing left to do? / Time just melts away and the current grows stronger_

_—_

Vicious lingers in the hallway outside Spike’s bedroom door, leaning against the metal wall. He has always been a disciplined man, never one to give in to desire or fear. It is fundamental to who he is. It made him a good soldier and an excellent assassin. 

And yet here he is, on a rusting hunk of junk floating through space, the ship’s vital parts humming beneath his feet as fear and desire eviscerate him in equal measure. 

He doesn’t knock. He never knocked on Spike’s door as a child, and it seems strange, somehow, to do so now. Instead he keys in the override code he once saw Jet use to get into Edward’s space when she didn’t show up for dinner. 

It works, and the door slides open. He stands in the doorway, hesitating. 

Spike’s hand goes instinctively for the pistol on the bedside table, but before his fingers can close around the grip he wakes up the rest of the way and sits up. 

“Vicious?” he says, softly. “What do you want?” 

It is a question with layers upon layers that Vicious is not willing to even begin to answer. After a moment, Spike seems to understand that. 

“Can’t sleep?” he asks. 

Vicious nods, once. 

Spike sighs. “Fine. Get over here.” 

He lifts the blankets as Vicious crosses the room, feeling a strange convergence of his past and present selves, which have almost nothing in common except for an irrational fondness for Spike Spiegel. 

“This bed is a lot smaller than my old one,” Spike grumbles, as Vicious takes his customary position curled up at the edge. A barrier between Spike and the world, ready to take on any threats—or so his teenaged old self liked to imagine. 

Silence lingers for a few minutes, but Spike isn’t asleep—Vicious can tell by the sound of his breathing. 

“Hey, Vicious.” The mattress dips as Spike fidgets. “What are your nightmares about?”

Vicious considers not answering. But Spike has shown him kindness, and perhaps that means he owes some small measure of honesty. 

“You,” he says, finally. “I dream about killing you.” 

Spike is quiet for a moment. “You almost did kill me.” 

“Yes. I know.” 

“I almost killed you too, so I guess that makes us even.” Spike shifts again, and then he throws one arm over Vicious’ chest, curling up against his back. “Get some sleep, asshole. We’ve got shit to do tomorrow.” 

Vicious lies as still as possible, waiting for the moment when Spike will pull away. Monsters like Vicious are not meant to be touched like this, to be coddled so. And yet when Spike doesn’t let go, when his body relaxes and his breathing evens out, Vicious is glad to be so intertwined. 

He wonders if Spike is dreaming about Julia, but even that bitterness fades, and finally sleep overtakes him as well, and all is peaceful on the Bebop, if only for a moment. 

_—_

_I'm gonna keep holding on_

_Holding on, I can't help myself when you're near,_

_My head goes wild and my heart beats like an eager child_

_I keep holding on, holding on_

……..HOLD ON, COWBOY


End file.
